Cetirizine, Your Fever
by ulquiorrii
Summary: He was pissed that "pretty" was the only adjective he could come up with at that moment. Inside his head was a buzzing white noise, unsure of his next move. I didn't get her name—A sigh. This is silly. ShiraishiXOC


_Cetirizine, Your Fever_

He didn't think it was polite to stare so openly, with the line being held up at the back and the nurse at the reception having rung the bell possibly twice now, but what with her eyes—were they brown, or green? he couldn't quite decide as he found himself lying deadbeat on the ground a few hours later, after a grueling set with Kenya, his muscles aching and chest heaving from the spent adrenaline, his eyes to the now reddening sky, his attention fixed on the no-sound of shoes shuffling out of the court, of people about to end the day, his mind totally ignoring the creeping, unmistakable warmth flooding the base of his stomach and down to his was that his groin, as he thought back to the way the flimsy, translucent film of sweat made her skin glow against the 3 o'clock sunlight peeking through the infirmary windows (and was it even possible to get a hard-on just by looking at a girl's sweaty nape? or was it Kenya's aggressive playing that's making weird things to his insides and was brilliant tennis simply, truly his kink)—with her eyes catching that strange glimmer and her silent voice ringing through his ears in a half-attempt at _Excuse me_ , he simply stood transfixed for half a second longer than needed for the person behind him to emit an almost imperceptible groan, the nurse's arm poised to ring the bell once more; his feet finally letting him step aside for the girl to pass. He was quick to notice the somewhat lingering gaze, the half-lidded eyes that spoke of confusion and exhaustion, tiny pinpricks of pain behind her temples somewhat betrayed by the scrunched forehead, the irregular exhalations through pale, dry lips. Two or three more people started groaning at the seats by the counter. He was sure they saw what he saw but when you are stuck in line for more than half an hour you do not get a free pass to the nurse no matter how pretty you are. _Could I maybe get an aspirin? I'm having these really terrible headaches,_ he could hear her whispering, her face hidden, the veins at the back of her hands trembling with the pressure being exerted to her temples. The other students' eyes bore holes on her back, but she couldn't have cared any less, her pain a whole other alternative reality away. _I threw up in the bathroom_. There was a barely perceptible whiff of vanilla, he remembered, as he stared at her small back. Was it his senses playing tricks on him? The nurse was standing up. Was it her hair? _Can I please have an aspirin_ , again _._ She was being assisted to a chair somewhere behind the counter away from most of the students, but nowhere he couldn't see. _My heart was beating so fast_ , a hand to her pretty face. It reminded him of that one time his mother brought home daisies and strangely they smelled of vanilla. Like the universe was in on some private joke nobody else bothered explaining to him. Her skin was what's vanilla, he later realized, his throat swallowing. He would fling his arm over his face, oblivious to the now almost emptying tennis courts. I'm fine, he groaned beneath a concerned Kintaro's face, completely blocking the sun behind him except there was no sun it was 6 PM, the sun was way down. "Captain?" a disembodied voice called, and he was pissed that "pretty" was the only adjective he could come up with at that moment. He emitted a sigh and sat up, his neck stretching. His expression was annoyed, almost feral; his body hunched forward, his hand resting on his knee, the bad ankle splayed comfortably in front. Inside his head was a buzzing white noise, unsure of his next move. I didn't get her name. He sighed with finality and started getting up. I didn't get her name, I might not see her again. Which was silly because he could always look for her around school. No, this _is_ silly. It was silly that he couldn't take his eyes away from her pained expression as he sat across from her, both of them waiting. The slight tapping of her shoes betrayed her impatience and it was all he could do to keep himself from touching the lids of her eyes, to see if they'd finally succumb to their heavy weight once subjected to even the lightest push, he imagined. His ankle was supposed to hurt, but everything then seemed secondary to this sublime reality of 3 o'clock heat, sterile bandages, spotless tiles, and slow, dead-eyed nurses. He wanted to reach up, smooth the pain out of her eyes somehow, touch the shivering forehead gently, silently, so as not to disturb the steady, seemingly gradual rhythm of time slowing down, allowing for this brief moment to stretch, accommodating this. . . swelling inside of him, buzzing to get out; the tips of his body aching for release. It was a moment that lasted for as long as his eyes followed her shallow breathing through parted lips; the slight trickle of a thin trail of sweat down her cheek, her soft neck resting on the chair's back. He gulped, and it was over.

Outside, the people started moving, heavy feet on tiled floors. The nurse was asking him something, something about his coach, and she moved her head slightly to her left, the lines still etched on her face. If only she opened her eyes so he could see that glimmer for one last time before he left, just a glimpse of that brown/green. . .

 _I'm not the kind of fool_

 _Who's gonna sit and sing to you,_

 _About stars, girl._

 _But last night I looked up into_

 _The dark half of the blue,_

 _And they'd gone backwards._

 _Something in your magnetism_

 _Must have pissed them off,_

 _Forcing them to get an early night._

 _—"Stuck on the Puzzle," Alex Turner_

 _Author's Note:_

 _Hi, I never knew Shiraishi apart from the 2 or 3 episodes I've seen of the New Prince of Tennis series, so forgive me if I only know him, Kenya, and Kentaro because really I don't know anybody else from their school hahaha. I like him though I think his bandaged arm looks cool. Also, in case you're curious, the title is a short bit of lyrics from Alt-J's "Breezeblocks." Hmmm, okay so the lyrics of that song may actually still be up for debate (as how most brilliant songs usually are) so depending on how you may interpret it, please note that I'm using the title here with a superficial, almost out-of-context interpretation of the lyrics in mind. I myself opt for the rather more sinister inclinations of the whole song, but it wasn't what I was thinking when I thought of it as a title. Just here to tell you that in case you thought that maybe this was going to be a sort of creepy story. . . Actually, I may or may not continue this; this is probably just a phase, I don't know. We shall see. Thanks for reading!_


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